


opere citato

by rainaftersnowplease



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Craigslist, F/F, Meet-Cute, Missed Connections, coffee and crullers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:08:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29754534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainaftersnowplease/pseuds/rainaftersnowplease
Summary: Kara keeps just missing the cute woman who frequents her favorite coffee shop, and so does what any reasonable person would: makes slightly stalker-ish missed connections posts on Craigslist to try to get in touch with her.
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 184





	opere citato

**Author's Note:**

> opere citato: in the work quoted

Lena can’t be sure if the first one is for her.

Quarterly is far, far too often for the board to meet. The part of this quarter’s meeting that she needs to be attentive and speaking for is over rather quickly. Stocks are up, two of this quarter’s three major projects are ahead of schedule, and the other is rather spectacularly under budget.

Turning around L-Corp had been a rough, long process full of late nights and working weekends, but now the place ran more or less independent of her. It was a sign of a well-structured company, one that pushed responsibility and real decision-making as far down from her up-on-high CEO position as possible. She mostly signs checks and takes time to baby her favored projects, now. It’s nice.

Board meetings continue not to be.

Surreptitiously, so, Lena indulges in a favorite pastime of hers: reading the absolutely bonkers Craigslist missed connections ads that can be found in a city as populous and diverse at National City.

> **You got a cruller and a double cap (downtown)**
> 
> I don’t know if I believed in love at first sight before this morning, but I was behind you in line at Noonan’s and heard you order, and now I definitely believe in love at first sound.

It’s her order, and her regular coffee stop on the way to work, although Noonan’s is a large local chain with at least a dozen shops downtown, and it’s not as though Lena is the only person ever to enjoy crullers or double cappuccinos. So she ignores that one in favor of the more outlandish entries. Someone down by the waterfront is lusting after a little old man who runs a hot dog cart nearby – apparently he’s got quite a way with his tongs – and another person is dead-away sure that she’s found her doppelganger at her gym.

The maybe-her posting is out of her mind as soon as the meeting is over and she turns to the more pressing day-to-day matters of her job. It’s not until the following weekend, when she’s putting in some now-rare overtime, and she’s checking her messages and emails for what her assistant has flagged for her immediate attention, that she gets a reminder.

Smushed between a couple of frantic emails from an overseas investor that she’ll probably need to address with a phone call is a message from her assistant with the teasing subject line: _I think you might have a secret admirer?_

Lena clicks into the email and is met with another craigslist link, and this time it’s not about her coffee order.

> **Walking (downtown)**
> 
> Saw you again, walking this morning around 6 AM with your coffee in hand, toward the L-Corp plaza on 10th. Almost crashed my car staring at you. If you’d like your next double cap to be on me, get in touch!

It’s a Sunday. When she’d taken the scenic route from the coffee shop to work, she’d passed maybe four other people, none of them headed the same direction as she was. She tries to remember the few cars that had passed her, if any of them had swerved dangerously while they passed. But she’d been engrossed in a readback of meeting notes in preparation for a follow up call later this week, and so nothing of the sort comes to mind.

Anonymous attention is very rarely a good thing to someone in Lena’s position, though, even if it does come in the guise of a missed connections post with a decidedly romantic slant.

She fires off a reply to her assistant – “Or a stalker, at any rate.” – and forwards the email to her head of security, just in case. And then she puts it out of her mind again, settling in for the few hours of uninterrupted work she’d scheduled for herself today.

The overseas investor makes more of a stink than Lena had anticipated she would, and so Lena finds herself in another board meeting several weeks sooner than she had planned for. She sits at the head of her longest conference table, an amalgam of mostly-empty suits arranged around its edge, and swirls the last of her second double cap of the day idly in its paper cup while the investor in question – having flown in for the occasion – goes through an impassioned screed about the wrong she feels she’s been done. It’s all very bootleg Apprentice, and Lena is bored of it before the investor is halfway through her rant. But she puts on a regal, professional frown, sits up straight, and gives the necessary platitudes to assuage both the investor and the board into pacificity.

Or so she thinks.

The investor decides to go public, blaring company secrets and internal strife to the world at large. What follows is a week and a half of migraine headaches and press wrangling. She gives telephone interviews to national networks, speaking in dulcet tones about shareholder confidence and long-term outlooks. Draws attention to L-Corp’s philanthropic endeavors in the local papers. Even agrees to a sit-down with Cat Grant to hash out what happened and where L-Corp goes from here. Two plus years without a major Luthor scandal have left quite an appetite, and sating the vacuum in the news with the company line seems pertinent.

It’s what finds Lena walking into Cat’s sunny skyscraper-windowed office early on a Monday morning. She’s dressed more softly than usual in a split neck green dress that comes just above her knee, her hair down with just enough of a wave that it doesn’t frame her face too severely. The point of her look today isn’t to cut but to welcome, to assuage, to settle.

“Good morning, Lena,” Cat greets her without fanfare, ushering her into her expansive office. Lena has known Cat Grant for years, ever since her first Luthor Christmas gala, in fact. She doesn’t stand on ceremony now.

“Good to see you, Cat.”

“I’m sure it is,” Cat says, waving a hand over her shoulder as she stalks away from Lena and deeper into her office. “Coffee? I was just about to send my assistant out.”

Lena barely gets out her, “I wouldn’t say no to a – ” before Cat is making the building shake with a yell straight from her chest of, “ _Kiera!_ ”

Her assistant comes skidding into the office, a tablet clutched to her chest. Lena turns and can’t help the little swell of sympathy for her. It’s only nine in the morning, but already the woman’s professional bun is marred by flyaways, her blouse a bit wrinkled. Being Cat Grant’s assistant is a notoriously demanding position, even for such a high profile executive assistant job.

For her harried entrance, though, she straightens fairly quickly, adjusting a smart pair of glasses with only a little huff of exertion.

“You called, Ms. Grant?” she says, looking right past Lena to her boss. She bounces a bit on the balls of her feet, probably fully expecting to be sent running again. She’s not wrong.

“Coffee,” Cat tells her. “Latte for me, and a cake pop. Vanilla, Kara, and only vanilla. Ms. Luthor?”

“Double cap,” her assistant says. Lena starts internally, wrangling the skitter of surprise in her skin into an arched brow and a glance at the woman in the doorway.

She’s looking at Lena now. Her mouth is open, like she’s suddenly breathless. There’s recognition in her clear blue eyes that quickly melts into horror as she realizes what she’s said.

“Lena,” Cat admonishes, sounding dangerously curious. “You didn’t tell me you’ve met my Kiera before.”

“I haven’t,” Lena says, unsure if that’s the truth for a moment. But no. She’d have remembered those eyes, the strong cut of those shoulders under that unflattering polo. _Definitely_ would have remembered those pleasantly muscled forearms, currently clutched so tight around the tablet that Lena can hear the leather cover of it squeak in the silence of the room.

She doesn’t have to be unsure for long, though, because the assistant – Kiera? – tips her knuckles against her glasses again and says, softly, “No cruller this morning?”

**Author's Note:**

> Please yell at me in the comments, or on Tumblr @ rainaftersnowplease.


End file.
